by Tom Barber
She scooped up the receiver in one smooth motion, not taking her eyes off the television above her desk.
‘Carter.’
A beat later, she froze.
Turning to Cobb immediately, she pointed to the receiver and then at Payan’s mug-shot quickly on her computer screen, catching everyone’s attention. As she started a trace on her computer keypad with her left hand, she pushed the button for the loudspeaker with her forefinger and placed the phone back on the cradle.
‘Can you repeat that?’ she said.
‘You…heard me,’ a man with an Eastern European accent said. ‘Did you like…what I left you...in Brixton?’
Payan, Archer thought, standing beside Fox and Chalky.
The second kidnapper.
A complete silence fell over Operations as everyone in the room listened intently to the call, the report on the television playing silently on the screen above their heads.
‘Is that Payan?’ Cobb said.
‘Yes.’
‘All we want is to get Detective Vargas back. We’ll do what you say. What do you want?’
‘Stan…Stanovich told you what I want. Money. I…knew you’d try to kill…me. I had to send a...message.’
Looking at Marquez, Archer frowned. The man had a bizarre, monotone way of talking; his speech was staccato and abrupt, as if he was struggling with the words, delays between the sentences.
At her desk, Nikki turned to Cobb and held up her fingers, mouthing ten seconds. On the computer screen behind her, Archer saw the numbers of the software she was using counting down beside Payan’s mug-shot, the red circle tracking the call contracting by the second.
As he looked at the map, his stomach jolted.
The call was coming from somewhere nearby.
‘So you want two million pounds?’ Cobb said, watching the trace countdown and speaking slowly. ‘Tell me where and how we can deliver that to you.’
‘I’ll…call you b…back with an account n...number.’
‘Wait!’ Archer said, as Nikki frantically motioned at them to keep talking.
Pause.
‘Let us talk to Vargas. A proof of life.’
He paused.
‘If you want us to do what you want, we need to know that she’s OK.’
There was a pause followed by some kind of shuffling noise.
Then the call went dead.
‘Did you get it?’ Cobb asked Nikki as they all stared at her screen.
‘Yes, sir,’ Nikki said, checking the screen and looking at the tight red circle drawn in up close on the city map. ‘He’s in Hendon. Fifteen minutes from here.’
‘Call EOD and SCO19,’ Cobb ordered two of the other analysts. ‘I want them both at the scene immediately. Warn them that the house will probably be rigged up with explosives just like the other.’
As Nikki studied the map and the other analysts got to work, Archer leaned forward and noted the address. Without a word, he turned and quickly headed for the stairs, not waiting for orders and intent on finding Vargas himself.
Cobb saw him leave and guessing where he was headed, turned to Fox.
‘Give him a lift.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, turning and following Archer.
Beside Cobb, Shepherd turned to Marquez and Josh. ‘Both of you go with them. And this time we need that son of a bitch alive.’
Inside the house in Hendon, the blond South African rose from his chair and stuffed the piece of paper into his pocket, having ended the call. The Middle Eastern man with the burn scars didn’t move, keeping the silenced pistol an inch from Payan’s face.
‘Did they get it?’ he asked.
‘They got it,’ the South African said, checking his watch. ‘You heard them trying to keep us on the line. They’ll have the trace.’
The Middle Eastern man smiled.
‘It’s game time,’ he said. ‘Call Finchley and tell him to let the bitch loose. The cops will be so distracted they’ll never realise what she’s doing.’
The South African nodded, pulling his cell phone and scrolling for a number as he turned and headed for the door. Watching him go, Payan remaining strapped to the chair, staring at the pistol an inch from his face.
‘I did…what you asked,’ the Slovakian managed to get out, staring up at the silencer for the handgun. ‘You should let me go.’
The man with the broken nose looked down at his captive for a moment.
Then he grinned, the grafted skin on his face crinkling up and gathering around the dark rings under his eyes.
‘You’re not going anywhere.’
ELEVEN
Less than a minute later, an ARU BMW carrying Fox, Archer, Marquez and Josh was weaving through North London, heading for Hendon. Behind the wheel, Fox had begun the journey at his normal relentless speed, the lights on the front and rear of the car activated and traffic moving out of their way hastily as he cut his way through as if he was going for pole on a race track, but before long their progress became stop-start. As Nikki had said, Hendon was normally a fifteen minute journey but unlike the journey from the airport, the streets were narrower here and clogged with evening traffic, the thick congestion meaning a lot of vehicles in front had nowhere to go to get out of the way of the police car.
In the front passenger seat, Archer sat impatiently as the journey passed by agonisingly slowly, willing the BMW to find a way through. There was no other police vehicle following them; Shepherd had remained behind at HQ with Cobb, the two men finally having a chance to trade information, and Chalky had stayed too. Archer knew his best friend better than anyone and he’d seen from his face how hard he’d taken Mason’s and Spitz’ deaths. Chalky had always been the loose cannon beside Archer’s straight shot, which was one of the reasons they were such good friends and worked so well together, but that joviality and light-hearted nature had a flip-side that not many people saw. Death devastated Chalky; it always had done. It was an unexpected side to his friend that was endearing but also hard to watch.
As Fox worked his way through the streets, the journey still stop-start despite the flashing police lights, he made a left turn and they suddenly found themselves at the back of another stream of stationary traffic.
‘Shit,’ he said, pressing the button to call Nikki, using the hands-free equipment.
As she answered, Archer looked at the panel terminal inside the car and saw their position on the map.
‘We’re only halfway there, Nik,’ Fox said, the call on speakerphone so all four in the car could hear. ‘Traffic’s a bitch.’
‘It’s OK; SCO19 and EOD are almost at the scene. They’ll clear the area and set up a perimeter. I told Brookins you’re on your way so he’s expecting you; he’s going to rig up a command post with EOD and assess the situation. No one’s just going to walk into this one.’
Fox nodded. ‘I’ll call you back.’
Ending the call, he cursed, looking at the traffic ahead.
‘This is taking too long.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Archer muttered beside him.
Back at the ARU’s HQ, the time was just approaching 7pm. The barrier at the front entrance had been lowered now Fox and the other three had left, everyone else still inside the building, the car park lined with vehicles but empty of human activity.
As the setting sun reflected golden light off the windows of the surrounding office buildings, a black Ford drove down the street and pulled up outside the ARU’s front barrier, coming to the end of a journey that had started across town in Kensington.
There were two people in the car, a man and a woman. Reaching across from his seat behind the wheel, the man slipped his hands inside the woman’s coat for a moment, then withdrew his fingers and tightened the belt.
In the passenger seat, ARU analyst Jenny Beckett sat there in silence staring straight ahead, her eyes red rimmed from tears, her lip trembling.
‘Get out,’ the man ordered.
Beckett hesitated for a moment.
Then she pushed open her door and stepped out unsteadily.
The moment she shut the door, the Ford moved off down the street, turning and disappearing out of sight. Watching it go, Beckett turned and looked at the ARU building. It was a summer evening but even so, she was wearing a well-cut thin cream overcoat over her dark trousers and white shirt. Given the heat, it was a somewhat odd choice of clothing, but she’d always dressed stylishly and tonight was no different.
Feeling as if she was about to faint, she walked forwards slowly and approached the gap beside the barrier, her high heels clicking on the concrete.
The guard on the front gate, a pleasant fifty four year old man called Wilson, nodded when he saw her.
‘Evening Jen,’ he called through the glass.
She didn’t even notice him, walking slowly past his hut. The distance to the front entrance of the building wasn’t far, but at that moment it stretched out in front of her as if it would never end.
She paused for a moment, trying to gather herself and not break down, and then continued on, thinking of her children as she began the walk across the car park towards the ARU HQ.
By the time the ARU BMW turned onto the residential road outside the house in Hendon, the four people inside saw that the EOD and SCO19 teams had already established themselves on the street, setting up a defensive perimeter and surrounding the house where the call from Payan had originated. EOD was the city’s bomb disposal unit, SCO19 the other main counter-terrorism task force; both units were highly professional, more than a match for a single Slovakian sex-trafficker.
The SCO19 team was surrounding the house, the street already cleared of pedestrians who were being held back behind hastily drawn-up tape. EOD were beside their truck in the road, a group of their specialists gathered together beside SC019 in a command post, set up between two cars and facing the house.
Passing through the police cordon in the BMW after showing his ID, Fox drew to a halt and the group stepped out, the three NYPD detectives following Fox who strode towards the burly SCO19 sergeant at the command post beside the bomb-disposal team on the street. Archer recognised the man, remembering his name was Brookins and as they approached him, he paused in his conversation with the EOD lead specialist and turned.
‘Hey Foxy.’
‘Hello, Sarge.’
Looking at the group with him, Brookins spotted Archer.
‘Holy shit, long time kid,’ he said. ‘Haven’t seen you for a while. Where’ve you been?’
‘Joined the NYPD.’
‘What?’
‘Long story. But that’s why we’re here. The kidnapped detective is one of ours.’
As Brookins digested this information, Marquez and Josh looked over at the house.
‘Is he still in there?’ Marquez asked.
‘Unknown.’
‘He isn’t talking?’ Fox asked, examining all the activity on the street, pedestrians and residents on both sides being herded further back as Met officers secured the area. ‘You must have got his attention by now.’
‘We tried the phone but no one’s picking up,’ Brookins replied. ‘We figure he could very well have your detective in there somewhere.’
He jabbed a thumb towards the EOD team to his right, who were busy getting their equipment ready.
‘Bomb disposal are going to get us a better look inside. I’ve got four guys covering the back in case he tries to bail out.’
‘What about fibre optics?’ Josh asked.
Brookins shook his head. ‘After what happened in Brixton, I’m not risking any of my men going that close.’
He paused, realising what he’d said.
‘Commiserations, by the way.’
Fox nodded.
‘I heard some didn’t make it.’
‘Mason and Spitz.’
‘Christ.’
Beside them, Archer had gone quiet, focusing on the house ahead of him. The properties each side were still being cleared, residents being rushed out as members of the SCO19 team gathered at various vantage points, aiming their weapons at the property where they believed Payan was holed up. The officers were garbed in their assault gear, armour, helmets and weapons but were staying back in case this was another trap and the house was booby-trapped with explosives.
Looking behind him, he saw two SCO19 sharpshooters were positioned on the 1st floor of two houses across the street, their rifles aimed at the front door. As Brookins resumed his conversation with Jameson, planning their approach, Archer turned back to Marquez and Josh to his left.
‘What do you think?’
Marquez didn’t reply for a moment, examining the other houses on the street.
He recognised that look on her face.
It was mirroring his own thoughts.
She shook her head, studying the scene. ‘This feels wrong.’
‘How so?’ Josh asked.
‘I don’t know. But it just does.’
As Josh looked at her, Archer glanced around.
Everyone was fixated on the front of the property, the setting sun reflecting off the windows of houses along the street.
Kidnapping Vargas and getting her out of the villa undetected had required some serious skill, nerve and pre-planning. But then the same people did something as amateurish as calling the police long enough to give them a trace and then hide out in a house with no escape routes?
It’s too easy, he thought, scanning the surrounding area.
Marquez was right.
Something about this felt off.
At the ARU HQ, Beckett was now almost at the entrance. Her raincoat was thin but she was sweating profusely, each footstep making a quiet click as her stiletto made contact with the concrete. She saw the entrance was now only ten yards away, illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun.
And as she drew nearer to the front doors of the building she caught her breath, knowing this was the last time she was ever going to see them.
TWELVE
On the street in Hendon, the EOD team had just finished their preparations and were ready. One of their specialists turned and gave a thumbs up to Brookins at the command post, who picked up his radio.
‘Baxter, report.’
‘We’re in place, sir. Back of the house is clear.’
‘Swan, blow the charge! I repeat, blow the charge!’
Fifteen yards to the left side of the house, one of the SCO19 officers was holding a clacker for some small charges he’d already placed on the hinges and lock on the front door of Payan’s hideout.
Acknowledging the order over his radio, he pressed the detonator.
The charges went off with a loud crack and blew the door off cleanly, revealing the entrance hall of the house as the frame fell backwards onto the front steps. With SCO19’s weapons trained on the doorway, an EOD specialist in a blast suit immediately moved forward with a remote-controlled bot in his hands, walking over the front lawn and approaching the open doorway.
Standing beside Marquez, Josh and Fox as they all watched the guy move forward, Archer was feeling increasingly uneasy as he observed the specialist approach the house. For EOD, normal protocol was to send a bot like the one the man was carrying into an uncertain situation, a remote-controlled vehicle fitted with cameras, microphones, sensors and moveable pincers to give the specialists a good idea of what they were dealing with without compromising their safety. If it had been flat ground, Archer knew the bomb-disposal team would have just sent the bot down, but the front doorway to the property was up a couple of steps, which meant in this situation it needed to be placed inside.
The atmosphere was tense as the specialist arrived outside the house. He made it to the entrance and placed the bot down inside the property. Despite his protective suit, the specialist was well within the blast radius if the house was baited with explosives as in Brixton.
But it didn’t blow.
As the specialist immediately retreated, the bot
now in place, Archer’s attention turned to the EOD leader, Harry Jameson, standing to his right just past Fox and Brookins. He was looking down at a screen in his hands, similar to the one used by the ARU and SCO19 for fibre optics.
‘Wally’s in position,’ Jameson said. ‘Here we go.’
Beside him, another specialist was holding a control box and he pushed the stick forward.
Looking over at the residence, Archer and the others heard a faint whirring noise.
And they all watched as the bot dubbed Wally slowly disappeared into the house.
At the ARU HQ, Beckett pulled open the door to the entrance and approached the barrier between her and the interior of the building. Behind the glass booth beside it, Lipton looked up and smiled.
‘Evening, Jen,’ he said, his voice slightly muffled by the protective screen. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Doctor.’
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, so quietly it was almost a whisper.
‘There’ve been some developments. You’d better go up and see for yourself.’
She didn’t reply as the door slid back, and she walked forward towards the stairs, her legs barely holding her up now she was in the building.
Shakily, she started to make her way slowly up.
‘Structure looks clear,’ Jameson said, examining the screen as the specialist beside him controlled Wally. ‘Don’t see any explosives.’
Brookins, the NYPD group and Fox watched silently, the SCO19 officers in position with their weapons trained on the property.
‘Any sign of Payan?’ Brookins asked. ‘Or the woman?’
‘Neither, yet,’ Jameson said.
There was a pause, everyone waiting. Beside Jameson, the specialist with the controls continued to skilfully manoeuvre the bot, checking the screen in Jameson’s hands as he did so.
‘Wait,’ Jameson suddenly said.
‘What is it?’ Brookins asked.
‘We’ve got something in the sitting room.’
Tilting his head, Jameson peered closely at the screen.